


Poor, Pale, Pitiful Form

by criim (yuriu)



Series: The Black Angel [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, M/M, Nelo Angelo!V, Post-DMC5, probably not a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 17:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18665041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuriu/pseuds/criim
Summary: Perhaps death, disappearing into a crumbling dust, would be a better fate than being a mere puppet...





	Poor, Pale, Pitiful Form

**Author's Note:**

> _anonymous asked:_
> 
>  
> 
> I was wondering how a Nelo V might respond to seeing Nero again? (you ship them right? How do you think that would play out?) Especially if Nero wants to help him or save him and won't fight back cuz it's V?
> 
> ( originally posted on [criimsoncloud](https://criimsoncloud.tumblr.com/post/184523867426/i-was-wondering-how-a-nelo-v-might-respond-to) )

“…V–? Is– fuck, is that you, V?“

He could feel himself freeze in his tracks, the grip upon his broken cane becoming slack. His heart, the heart he had thought ripped out and torn, skipped a beat. Breath, caught up in his throat.

 

                                                      _No. Don’t come closer._

 

“What happened V– I thought… V?“

Heavy footsteps behind him upon the stone path.

 

_No, whatever you do, please._

_Do not come **close**._

 

“V? Hey, man, it’s me, Nero! You remember me, right? Please… tell me you remember me.“

Body tensed.

Shoulders tightened.

Eyes closed.

 

                                                        _Please, Nero. I beg you–_

 

“V, c’mon man, turn around-“

Pressure landed upon his shoulder.

A warm, strong hand.

It would be so easy for him to just lean into the touch; to just listen to him, turn around, and _weep_. Cry into Nero’s shoulders - how he was so sorry, how he regretted the wrongs that he had done to him, how he wished so deeply that he wasn’t a coward, that the _first_ thing he should have done upon awakening was to find Nero again, instead of _running_ _away_ , terrified of his reaction. He felt so fucking _alone_ , not even his friends were here with him– Griffon, Shadow, Nightmare, they were all gone and–

Something snapped shut within him.

A vice, squeezing on the long forgotten heart.

The hand, the kind touch that V once longed for… now burning; intense, painful… and a sinking feeling in his gut that **_he_ **had heard him. _**He** _was listening. **Watching**.

**Waiting for his little puppet to mess up… and break him all over again, back into submission. Then let his puppet go… and mess up again, only to repeat the twisted, cruel cycle, never letting him rest.**

V brought up a hand to rest upon Nero’s. A split second, the warm familiarity seeping within him. Nero’s touch lingered upon his shoulder, hesitant and gentle, worry that this broken body of his would crumble away once again, like dust in the wind. Fingers twitched, wanting to entwine themselves with Nero’s once again, to become unraveled and broken, then pieced back together by the one who truly cared…

 

_I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe…_  
_That made my love so high and me so low._

 

**_Fo̡͟r̶̨ģ̶̶i̷ve̶ m͠e͏. ͟N͟e̸ro.̨_ **  
**_~~but I cannot disobey my Lord.~~_ **

 

Fingers lingered, then–

 

                               a strong grip.

                                       strong.

                                           too strong.

                                                   inhumanely strong.

 

Claw like nails dug into flesh, and V could feel Nero’s grip become loose in shock. V _**ripped** _Nero’s hand away, a deep, distorted growl escaping his throat. “Do not touch me–“ He yanked Nero away, taking advantage of his shocked stupor and tossing Nero violently to the side with a strength that was never associated with V.

Crimson eyes flickered, watching the myriad of emotions dance through Nero’s eyes. Bafflement. Anger. Confusion. Pain. Rage.

“– _the fuck, V?!_ “

V only looked down on him, impassive. Eyes void of the emotions that once danced a duet with Nero’s. Lips formed a thin line. A sharp movement, a flick of his wrist, and his cane unraveled, forming a deadly whip. He closed his two eyes… and opened his third.

No words spoken.

But he could feel Nero’s rage boiling, Nero’s disbelief.

V raised his whip to his face, dipping his head down in a mock prayer.

A horrifying imitation of an enemy they had once faced together.

But now…

It was he, _**Nelo Angelo**_ , against Nero.

 

“ _**Poor, pale, pitiful form**_  
_**that I follow in a storm;**_  
_**Iron tears and groans of lead**_  
_**Bind around my aching head.**_ "


End file.
